15. Santa Barbara
SANTA BARBARA
Jordyn
“I know you’re in here!” A man, voice deep and unforgiving, shouted at the top of his lungs. He’d pounded on the cabinets.
Thump .
Thump .
Each impact against the cabinets in the kitchen sent venom through my veins. Paralysis left me frozen in fear as I sat on the floor, back against additional cabinetry. Legs pushed to my chest, one arm around me. The other?—
THUMP .
—shook with the Glock. Given the fear wrapped around my throat, I wondered how many bullets this gun took? I could imagine myself shooting everywhere but a target that entered the pantry. In a matter of time, he’d distinguished between the cabinets and pantry door. How did this happen?
It seemed just seconds ago, I’d twirled a wineglass in my hand while waiting for Jamie to taste the popcorn I’d made especially for him.
The glass had caught the low glow from the kitchen pendant lights, and I’d sighed, allowing myself to enjoy the moment without expectation of offering my body.
But when the time came, I’d be ready. Hell, I’d be all over that man like a monkey climbing a tree.
And now, I was gonna die the second that monster breached the door. Great . He could leave my body here. This pantry was practically a marble mausoleum.
Rebel’s wet nose nudged my shoulder, a subtle reminder that I wasn’t alone.
She didn’t bark like the Siberian Laikas.
While a part of me sought her feminine roar as encouragement, the simple touch made the gun in my hand stop rattling like a maraca.
Okay, girl, get a grip, or you’ll never kiss Jamie again.
His kiss was unlike any I had ever experienced.
Unique. Like I’d never been kissed before.
A sigh ran through me, and the last tiny shakes in my weapon-fisted hand ended.
The door creaked open.
Before I could fire off a shot, Rebel lunged past me.
With a snarl, she hurled herself upward and aimed for the man’s neck.
He blocked. Her teeth latched onto the man’s arm, knocking him off balance.
He fell back with her latched onto him. I narrowed my eyes and prepared to pull the trigger.
Although the open door admitted more natural moonlight, I still lacked the confidence to take the shot. Not without hurting Rebel.
He lifted a handgun toward my dog.
“No!” I screamed just as he fired a shot.
Rebel yelped and darted away.
The man climbed to his feet and shoved the Glock into his thigh holster.
An even bigger gun rested at the sling on his chest. The arrogant look on his face suggested he didn’t need to use a weapon to attack me.
His hands tightened into fists at his side as he approached.
I shot him in the chest. Pop . Pop . Pop .
The first bullet slammed him against the kitchen island. The second shot laid him out flat on the ground. My third shot slammed through the cabinet next to him. He gasped for air as he struggled to sit upright. With a roar, he leaped up and ran at me.
I lowered my aim as he came after me again. The shot grazed his muscular thigh. He grunted, catching me by the throat and lifting me off the floor. My feet dangled. I aimed for his jewels and missed.
As more bullets went off in the background, his fist flew toward my face. At the last second, the guy pulled the punch with a hardened chuckle. “Better be glad. You’re the target.”
The butt of a rifle slammed against the side of his head, knocking him to the floor.
Jamie rubbed a hand over his jaw, a bruise forming.
“Shoot him!” I shouted before it dawned on me that Jamie might be out of bullets. My suggestion, however, didn’t faze the man. He rolled on his stomach and aimed his slung rifle at my protector. Jamie grabbed the barrel.
The shot went wide, shattering a slab of marble wall. Ouch ! Too loud . I pressed my hands over my ears. Bigger gun. Bigger sound.
The man started to get up. Jamie, still holding the rifle barrel, yanked it. The rifle strap pulled the man to the floor again. A well-aimed kick to the ribs made the mercenary grunt in pain. The man wrenched the rifle back, pulling Jamie to the floor.
As they fought, rolling out of the pantry and onto the kitchen floor, the memory of the tiny bean who once promised me freedom caved to the powerfully built man fighting to protect me.
A human wrecking ball. The big guy seemed strong but slow as he tried to get up, his body stuck between a flurry of Jamie’s fists and the floor.
Jamie twisted the rifle free. Unable to turn it around on the man because of the length of the gun, he worked the sling around the man’s neck from behind. Used it like a garrote and yanked hard.
Airflow cut off. The man’s fist pounded the side of Jamie’s head. His eyes bulged. His hands moved to his throat to claw at the strap until they fell lifeless to his side.
Jamie stood, chest heaving, body shaking. He licked a bit of blood from his lips, pulled the gun free, then shot the man in the head.
From my position in the pantry, still hugging myself, I squeezed my eyes shut. Bigger gun. Bigger bullets. Bigger … hole. I would remember the gaping hole in the man’s head for the rest of my life.
Jamie came into the pantry, crouched down, and removed the gun I hadn’t realized I was still holding. “Rebel,” I moaned.
Jamie lifted me up. As he carried me up to the primary bedroom, he clicked his tongue as if instructing his dog. “Rebel, girl!”
The Rottweiler limped from the shadows, whimpering.
“ Och ! Really? Who shoots a dog?” Jamie shook his head. He commanded the lights to turn on. Nothing happened. “Forgot they killed the power.”
I climbed out of his arms, and he crouched to his knees, using his phone flashlight to look over Rebel. He hissed. “No exit wound. You’ll have to wait, Rebel. I’m so sorry, girl.”
She licked his hand.
I glanced around the primary suite, the glass wall leading to the beach gone. “At least we can see a little.”
He pressed a button on his G-shock military watch. “We have five minutes. Tops.”
“For what? M-more of them?” I stuttered, but Jamie was already strolling into the walk-in closet.
As I followed him inside, he placed a navy blue backpack in my hand.
“My neighbors will have called the cops. We still don’t know if Chelomey has a mole on the force.
Even if he doesn’t have a cop established in SBPD, we don’t need the publicity of me protecting this place. ”
While struggling to accept this was reality, not a movie or book, I asked, “But this is your house, Jamie. This is a clear case of home invasion, and you’re a Marine. I … I’m the problem. I-I can just leave. I’ve already brought you so much trouble.”
“No! If I have to choose what to protect, it won’t be assets. I will always pick you. Besides, I have a fail-proof plan, so don’t you go thinking you’re at fault. You hear me?” Jamie brushed away a tear.
Throat constricting, I bobbed my head.
“I’m so sorry, JorJor. We gotta go. Just the necessities.”
Why was he apologizing to me? Why was he so …
perfect? If I had run away in the past, I wondered what I’d have taken?
The necessities would’ve included the latest high heels—and practically any outfit I thought might keep the man willing to run away with me.
Pathetic . I opened the backpack and threw in Old Navy sweats— ugh .
So not the outfit that would prompt a guy to stay with me.
I tugged into a similar outfit, slipped the hoodie from my head, and then shoved my feet into my only pair of kicks. Oph ! On my way to the bathroom for my hair grease and facial serum, I tripped over a fallen chair. Some things I could do without, but these two weren’t among them.
When I returned to the bedroom, Jamie was dumping the money from the steel briefcase into another backpack on the bed. A laptop. Two sets of passports and other forms of identification. He rushed to the closet, returning with arms laden with small, black devices.
“What’s that, Jamie? Spy equipment?”
“Just a wee thing I call a sniper rifle. No. Let me be honest. Once I assemble my .408 CheyTac”—let the record show that Jamie sounded like he’d spoken of my precious —“this beauty will be accurate, reliable. Squeeze the trigger, and what you have here is a one-hit wonder.”
A chuckle burbled from my lips.
Jamie looked up at me .
“You weren’t being funny?” My rhetorical question proceeded another maniacal laugh. I didn’t know who I was more afraid of: more of Aleksandr’s rental soldiers, the cops locking me up for life for this misunderstanding, or the Scot before me. And then another emotion triumphed it all.
Exhilaration. That was it. If … we didn’t die, this might be fun.
“JorJor. Move. Please.” Jamie reached for my backpack.
“No. I’ve got it.” I looped a strap over my shoulder.
He nodded.
“How are we—” Oh? We’d use the closest exit, which wasn’t there this morning.
Jamie pitched his bag out of the area where the glass wall once was.
It sailed over the cement platform that led from the glass sliders in the kitchen below and landed far out into the sand.
My attempt mirrored his, although my bag didn’t travel as far.
Jamie leaped to the first level. That sweet traitor, Rebel, jumped down. With a yelp, the Rottweiler landed in his arms.
He kissed her head. “Sorry, girl. We’ll get that bullet soon.” As he placed her onto the ground, more blood coated his shirt.
The sound of sirens was so close now that I knew they were on our street. I took a steadying breath and a tentative step over shards of glass. “Guess it’s my turn?”
“Jordyn, I’d rather the cops not breach the door with a battering ram. JUMP!” His gritted tone didn’t leave room for complaints.
I leaped. The sensation of my free fall evoked memories of a challenge I saw online during my early twenties while I was exploring the concept of true love. Apparently, this was it.
Love was trust. And trust was me jumping over ten feet to my?—